Roderic Quinn

(1867 - 1949 / Australia)

Roderic Quinn Poems

1. A Grey Day 4/16/2010
2. A Song Of Keats 4/16/2010
3. A Song Of Winds 4/16/2010
4. A Wardrobe 4/16/2010
5. Acushla 4/16/2010
6. After Cattle 4/16/2010
7. After Drafting 4/16/2010
8. All Of A Piece 4/16/2010
9. An Empty Room 4/16/2010
10. Arnold Rode Behind 4/16/2010
11. At Dawn 4/16/2010
12. At End Of A Holiday 4/16/2010
13. At Her Door 4/16/2010
14. At The Tide's Will 4/16/2010
15. Australia's Vision 4/16/2010
16. Bequeathal 4/16/2010
17. By Momba Tracks 4/16/2010
18. By The Quay 4/16/2010
19. Doing Nothing 4/16/2010
20. Drovers Twain 4/16/2010
21. Garden Street 4/16/2010
22. God's Answer 4/16/2010
23. God's Answer 4/16/2010
24. Homeward Going 4/16/2010
25. In September 4/16/2010
26. Irony 4/16/2010
27. Just To Drift 4/16/2010
28. Love Magical 4/16/2010
29. Mid-Forest Fear 1/1/2004
30. Midnight And Moonlight 4/16/2010
31. Noon On The Barrier Ranges 4/16/2010
32. On The Barrier 4/16/2010
33. Perfection 4/16/2010
34. Romance In The Market Place 4/16/2010
35. Shell-Music 4/16/2010
36. Spring Song 4/16/2010
37. Stars In The Sea 1/1/2004
38. Sydney Cove, 1788 4/16/2010
39. The Allisons 4/16/2010
40. The Artist 4/16/2010
Best Poem of Roderic Quinn

A Song Of Keats

'TIS a tarnished book and old,
Edges frayed and covers green!
But, between the covers, gold —
Gold and jewels in between.
And this written (see, O see!
How old Time has made it dim)
'For one song Keats gave to me
I kneel down and worship him.'
He who wrote these lines is dust;
All of him is passed away;
Some hand closed his eyes, I trust,
Drew the blind to darken day.
Did lips kiss him at the end,
Love-lips tremulous yet brave?
Had he mistress, child, or friend
To sow green grass upon his grave?
Nay, we know not — it is long
Since he tired of ...

Read the full of A Song Of Keats

The Circling Hearths

MY Countrymen, though we are young as yet
With little history, nought to show
Of lives enleagued against a foreign foe,
Torn flags and triumph, glory or regret;
Still some things make our kinship sweet,
Some deeds inglorious but of royal worth,
As when with tireless arms and toiling feet
We felled the tree and tilled the earth.

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